The scorching heat that had whipped through him, burning away his defenses until all that mattered was the wild frenzy of their passion.
As in the dream, he could hear the soft lapping of the wavelets on the shingled strand and feel the afternoon breeze lifting his hair. The sweet warmth of spring sunshine, and a blaze of desire such as he’d never known.
Not even with his long-dead first wife, Matilda.
Horrified, he jerked his hand from Gelis’s cheek and wheeled away from her. His gaze fell at once on the great four-poster bed across the room, his anguish complete when he spied the piles of his folded clothes mounded on the bed’s luxuriant furred coverings.
His grand black cloak and his opened, half-packed leather travel bag.
Rose attar perfume and lusty dreams forgotten, he spun back around, not at all surprised to find his bride standing with her hands braced against her hips, her amber eyes alight with challenge.
“Your money purse and wine skin are there.” She flicked a hand toward the shadows behind the door.
Glancing that way, he saw more of his gear gathered in a neat little pile. His hauberk had been laid carefully over a chair, the mail shirt’s silvery links gleaming softly in the candlelight, while his extra sword and sword belt rested on the floor, half-hidden in deeper shadow.
He refused to goggle.
And under no circumstance would he acknowledge the cold, hard knot beginning to pulse between his shoulders.
He did clench his hands.
With the exception of the wispy more-an-annoyance-than-a-threat mist wraiths that were wont to slither across window ledges and sometimes probe into the great hall, slinking along the tops of the trestle tables, none of the unholiness associated with Maldred the Dire’s curse had ever dared to actually penetrate Castle Dare’s walls.
Until now, he owned, the certainty of it tightening his chest.
“Those clothes and gear are my travel goods.” He looked at her, some foolishly optimistic corner of his soul hoping she’d put his suspicions to rest, proving him wrong. “They were locked in my strongbox, my extra sword hidden beneath the bed.”
“So Anice said when we found them strewn about the room.” She held his gaze, her words taking his hope. “She also said that only you have a key to your strongbox.”
A truth that made the matter all the more damning.
Not about to tell her so, he folded his arms. “And if I do?”
“Then you were in here before I came abovestairs,” she informed him, sliding a glance at Buckie, who now occupied the entire threshold.
The dog’s fluting snores indicated he slept, but a single eye, cracked no more than a sliver, followed Ronan’s every move. One somewhat tatty-looking ear was lifted as well, craftily poised to catch every word.
Ronan’s mouth twisted.
Gelis was watching him just as carefully, and he didn’t doubt her ears were equally sharp.
“So you do not deny it?” She narrowed her eyes. “You were in here.”
Ronan made a dismissive gesture, not trusting himself to speak.
Hehadbeen in the room earlier.
But only long enough to ensure that all her comforts were met. A fire laid, the bedding freshened, and his carefully planned feast- for-one spread upon the table.
An insult he’d hoped would see her riding away with her father at the morrow’s first light.
A fool plan he now regretted, wishing he could simply tell her the whole fell truth. But even voicing such darkness could be dangerous, his thoughts too easily led down paths he didn’t dare to tread.
“Well?” She raised a single red-gold brow. “At least admit that you were packing for a journey.”
“Have a care . . .” He let the warning trail off, knowing it was too late.
The j-word had been spoken.
